


An Ill Wind

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blows no good</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ill Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[**nolivingman**](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/) for beta duty and to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/)**inlovewithnight** for the idea.
> 
> Originally posted 4-1-07

Maria does not understand the language her husband speaks. He speaks of halyards and quarterdecks, of pressed men and following seas. He speaks of things he assures her are quite simple, explaining them in words that grow less and less like proper English and more like a foreign tongue, as though he’s suddenly slipped to French or Greek in the middle of his conversation. She tries hard to keep focused, to memorize the words – mains’l and bells and mizzen and mast – but they blur as fast as a spun globe of distant ports she’s never even imagined.

These are the things she wishes she could ask someone, share with a friend. A friend to confide in, to whisper secrets to. Someone to lean on and say the words she thinks - _I do not understand him, he does not love me_ \- and know they are locked away but shared, and in the sharing, seem lighter burdens.

Which is why, when she comes, Maria lets Lady Barbara in the door. Her husband is a Naval man, and she has been aboard a ship, has no doubt heard the same words that Horatio has mentioned in Maria’s presence. In fact, she will occasionally say one of them and Maria finds herself looking up from her knitting, paying attention when talk of parties and society allow her to continue with her blanket undisturbed.

“What was it like? On his ship?”

“On _Lydia_?” Barbara’s familiarity with the name of the ship, like a friend or some kind of intimate, forces Maria’s eyes to the window, looking out at the turbulent grey sky.

“Is he a good captain?”

“Oh yes. He takes exquisite care of all his guests and his men. He is firm but fair. He takes risks, such risks. But they are not as daring as they seem to the rest of us, I think. He sees things we do not. Sees consequences and possibilities.”

She talks as though _he_ is her intimate and suddenly Maria feels sick to her stomach, the swelling nausea so familiar with early mornings not so long past threatening her. She can almost hear the accusation in Barbara’s voice - _How can you not know this of this man, of your husband? How can you see yourself a fitting wife for him?_ \- as clearly as she had heard it in his man, Lieutenant Bush’s voice that night when Horatio had proposed.

Maria’s life is filled with voices she cannot trust and memories she wishes were never hers. She rests her hand on her belly and keeps her eyes away from Barbara’s, though she can feel the other woman’s covetous gaze. It is a cheap victory, and perhaps she blackens her child’s future by flaunting so, by using the life inside her to triumph over this woman, but she cannot help it.

“We were lovers, you know.”

Maria does not speak, cannot. It is pointless to do so, as Barbara has continued on as if she were in some sort of confessional and Maria her confessor. Perhaps, Maria thinks, a friend to confide in is more a curse than a blessing, a gateway to more memories she does not have a right to.

“Aboard _Lydia_. Horatio and I. We were lovers.”

She has given him nothing short of everything, and it seems that all he has given her is the right to bear his children and wear his name. It is fitting, she supposes, as he is clearly hers in name only. She swallows and turns her attention back to her knitting, as if the words were never spoken. “Were you? And yet I am the one who carries his child. Odd that.”

Barbara’s eyes widen and there’s something dangerous in them. Maria knows it from years with her mother, and years with borders who were often not what they claimed. She knows danger, has been low enough to touch it and recognizes it, even when dressed in a high society gown.

“You know, Maria, I was speaking with your mother the other day. She’s concerned for your health, says the pregnancy is wearing on you a bit, along with Horatio’s absence.” She says his name with deliberation, caressing it with her tongue as if they are the lovers she claims. Maria does not doubt it, as much as she would like to, for Lady Barbara is exactly as her husband would desire. She is a perfectly lady, dressed in fine clothes and saying fine things, understanding his time at sea, understanding what he needs at home. “I, of course, offered my services to help you while she’s out during the day.”

“I need no one, thank you.”

“Oh, I think you do, Maria. It is likely to be so difficult for you now that he’s been captured.”

“C-…”

“You had not heard? Oh dear.” Barbara smiles wickedly, pleasure curving her lips. “Perhaps they simply forgot Captain Hornblower had a wife.”

“Who…”

“Quite sad, actually. His ship was captured off Rosas Bay. He and some of his men are being held for execution they say. The others died horribly.” Barbara leans in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Napoleon himself wants to execute your husband, Maria. I’m sure that’s quite an honor.”

“An honor?” Maria struggles for breath, struggles to her feet. “You are a vile, ghoulish woman,” she manages. “To speak of Horatio’s death as if…” She slumps back down into the chair, her heart pounding rapidly.

Barbara is on her feet in an instant, quickly to Maria’s side. “Careful, Maria, my dear. You don’t want to cause harm to the baby.” She laughs softly. “You mustn’t worry, Maria. Horatio will be fine. He shall always find a fair wind and a following sea. It is you we must worry about, Maria. You.” She rests her hand on Maria’s stomach, stroking the hard curve. “And our baby.”  



End file.
